Darkest Hour
by ryurazoo
Summary: Harry was never a true child of the light. Shunned by his so-called family, he is taken into Voldemort's care after showing signs of uncontrollable, raw power and brought up as heir to the Dark Lord. AU, Dark!Harry.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Darkest Hour

**Author:** ryurazoo

**Rating: **Mature Teen

**Warnings:** Brief mentions of child abuse, powerful!Harry.

**Summary: **Harry was never a true child of the light. Shunned by his so-called family, he is taken into Voldemort's care after showing signs of uncontrollable, raw power and brought up as heir to the Dark Lord.

**Disclaimer: **Everything canon belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm not making a penny from this endeavor, sadly.

**Feedback: **Would be great.

* * *

Lily's eyes were wide, the green in them almost luminescent as she traced a rune in the air with her finger, then traced another one on her child's forehead. The baby mewled happily, nearly going crosseyed from staring up at the finger atop his head. Lily looked down at the baby and brought up her arms, voicing a harsh incantation in Latin that made the air heavy with magic. Harry squirmed restlessly in his crib.

The incantation ended, and glowing, fiery words traced themselves above Harry's head as Lily slumped into the chair beside the crib, exhausted. Her fatigued features were brimming with horror as Harry's parentage revealed itself.

_"Mother: Lily Potter._

_Father: Tom Riddle."_

Lily had expected this, but the affirmed revelation brought all her fear to the forefront of her mind. James wouldn't floo back from auror training for a few minutes, and Lily knew what she had to do.

Silently, the woman arose as the letters faded from above Harry's head. She considered the restless babe. His eyes were a bright, unnatural green- quite a bit more vivid than hers, but the same shape. Even as a baby, Lily could now see some of the aristocratic angles of Tom Riddles face, some of the features that were unique to him- the dark hair was much smoother than James', the lips wider and plumper. Lily could tell that his face would be handsome and sharp when he was older.

She could see none of James in him.

She drew her wand, prepared to cast a glamour. She'd always been good at charms. Taking a deep breath, she began to change Harry's face. There was one thought on her mind: he _needed_ to look like James. But when her spell was woven, the baby soon looked too similar to her husband- eerily similar. She cast another charm that took the glamour off of Harry's eyes, making them look like hers.

Satisfied with her wand work, the witch quickly reholstered her wand. If she gave him all of a mother's love, she told herself, then he wouldn't grow up to be like his father. If she made sure that his path didn't stray, watched him and cared for him, he'd never turn into such a monster. She promised herself that Harry would be a good man. She'd help him the whole way.

Too bad she forgot that promise.

As Harry grew, he was well cared for. James took care of him and doted on him like the child was his own- which he thought the poor babe was. Lily determinedly cared for her baby, fiercely loved him.

And then Harry said his first word.

_"Momma?"_

Unfortunately, the witch he was trying to communicate with didn't speak parseltongue.

She gave Harry an odd look when he gave off a funny little hiss and wrote it off as one of those strange noises that babies make. But she and James could no longer ignore it when Harry persistently hissed his way up to the age of two.

By then, Harry could speak quite well to his parents, and was used to them ignoring his words. One day, when Lily took him outside and left him for just a moment to get something to drink. Her baby was quite a capable one. He wouldn't get up to any mischief in her brief absence.

When she came back, to her shock, Harry was absentmindedly stroking a small garden snake on the head with a pudgy finger. "Kafrinis says you can't understand me unless I talk like this, Momma," Harry said happily.

Lily dropped her drink. It landed on the grass with a soft thud, spilling pumpkin juice around it in a sickly orange halo. Lily's first thought, in her shock, was that Harry had a funny accent. He drew out his S's in a way that made his words sound smooth and elegant. Lily thought that if she tried to talk like that, it'd only sound like she had a funny lisp.

"Who- who's Kafrinis?" Lily asked tremulously.

Harry pointed to the snake, beaming. The snake flicked out its tongue and hissed softly. "He says 'hi'!"

"Harry, get away from that thing!" Lily cried, panicking. She ran forward and snatched her child away from the serpent, hugging him to her chest. "No! Mummy, we were just playing- honest-" Harry wailed in protest. Lily turned around with every intention to bring Harry quickly back into the house, but James stood in the doorway with a shocked expression on his face.

"Lily..." he rasped, licking his lips. "Was Harry talking to that snake?"

"I- I don't know, James! What are we going to do? Oh, Merlin...."

"I thought only dark wizards could....?"

"I don't know!" Lily yelled hoarsely.

"Mummy? Daddy? What's wrong, Momma?" Harry asked in a high, worried voice with his odd little accent.

"Nothing's wrong, Harry." Lily gave James a sharp look when he opened his mouth. "Let's go inside, okay?"

"Okay!" Harry said gleefully, smiling a wide, happy smile.

James and Lily had another child after that, and named him Brian Sirius Potter. The child was bright in ways that Harry was dark. He had Lily's auburn hair and James's brown eyes. His parents and his godfathers- Sirius and Remus and Peter- all loved him. Harry was left in his brother's shadow.

His only friend was the snake that had told him to speak English, Kafrinis. Kafrinis was a small snake, so he easily could hide up Harry's sleeve. When no one was looking, they conversed in low hisses. People didn't look at them often, anyway. Harry didn't particularly like speaking the language of the humans around him. Parseltongue was more expressive, more fluid. It came easily to his tongue, while English was rough and clipped, an awkward language. Kafrinis, quite the knowledgable little serpent, suggested that Harry might be more comfortable speaking something less sharp than English, perhaps French or Russian. But Harry didn't know where to learn these languages, and the snake couldn't speak in anything but parseltongue.

Harry's brother's best friend was an orphan, Neville Longbottom. Harry had overheard the adults saying that Voldemort had personally killed the boy's parents. Neville was an insufferable, pompous boy, who had been prophesized to kill Lord Voldemort and often praised because of his supposed destiny. If his parents were anything like the child, then Harry didn't blame the Dark Lord.

He lived his young life in seclusion. His parents forbade him from speaking in anything but English, and punished him whenever he slipped and spoke parseltongue. They didn't punish him themselves- oh, no. They wouldn't touch him. He was tainted, dark. Instead, they sent him to a Dark Children Specialist.

There, he was subjected to evils that Lily and James would have saved him from in a heartbeat if they knew what was actually going on behind the walls.

Even they weren't that cruel. They were only fearful of their darkening son.

The man there cast cruciatus on him, belittling the child the whole time, telling him that he was a freakish, evil little boy. When Harry could only scream for mercy in parseltongue, too far gone to remember his English, he was only tortured further. It was hell.

And he only knew that this is what his parents meant for him.

One day, Remus caught Harry sitting quietly sitting in a corner, hissing softly to a tiny snake's head poking out of his sleeve. The head swiveled to look at the werewolf and hissed loudly before retreating into Harry's sleeve. Harry hissed back, looking confused and shaking his head, then looking up. He squinted at Remus. Lupin suspected that the child had bad vision, but when he'd mentioned it to James, he hadn't seemed to care.

Harry jumped. "Oh! Uncle Remy! I-" he broke off as his teeth began to chatter. "Please don't tell my mummy!"

Lily was suddenly behind Remus. "Don't tell me what?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

"I don't know..." Remus said, cocking his head in confusion. "I think- I think Harry has a snake up his sleeve..."

Lily's face suddenly went livid. Harry cowered into his corner, unconsciously trying to make himself small. In fear, all English was forgotten. He began to hiss earnestly in parseltongue. _"Mummy- no- please don't hurt me I didn't mean to!" _Harry babbled at her. Lily advanced on him and slapped him out of his hysterics. "I told you never to speak to snakes!" she said sharply. Harry held a small, trembling hand to his face, where a red handprint marred his pale cheek. The cruciatus, while excurciatingly painful, never left a mark, and he wasn't left for Punishment long enough to cause nerve damage. Bruises were new. _"I-" _he began in a terrified hiss, then caught himself. "I didn't mean to!" he wailed.

Lily was suddenly struck by how much he looked like James. She wondered what the darkness, hidden underneath, would look like. Harry was using James's sweet face to make him seem innocent. She found herself sneering.

"Lily- he's only a child-" Remus said weakly.

"I'm not a little kid!" Harry protested, then shrank back under his mother's glare.

"Give me the snake," she snarled. Harry's eyes widened. He drew the sleeve concealing the serpent up close to him. _"No! He hasn't done anything to you!" _he hissed desperately. He would not let Kafrinis be Punished.

Lily heard only vicious hissing. She grabbed at Harry's sleeve, but an uncannily strong wall of magic suddenly roared up towards she and Remus, knocking them to the opposite wall, where they slumped to the floor, watching Harry with fearful eyes as the concealed serpent uncoiled itself from Harry's sleeve and perched on his shoulder, watching the proceedings with amusement.

"Kafrinis has been more a parent to me than you have been. If you touch him, you will regret it." Harry's voice was cold and commanding.

"Lily? What's going on in here?" James poked his head around the doorframe and saw his son standing over the bodies of his wife and best friend. "What the Hell have you done, you little-" he began to snarl, drawing his wand. Harry regarded the man with icy eyes. "Petrificus-" James began.

"Oh, no you don't, father," Harry said mockingly, waggling a finger childishly at his dad. With a flick of his pale hand, James was also knocked aside like a rag doll. With another careless wave of the hand, all three adults were shoved against the wall by an invisible force and held there. "Don't follow me," he said quietly, then turned to stride down the hallway and out the door. Sirius and Peter were playing outside with Brian. Harry watched them bitterly. The sneer on his face looked odd for one so young.

Sirius looked up. "Harry? Why aren't you inside?" Sirius asked sternly. Harry's eyes narrowed, the sneer intensifying. "My parents haven't let me out of the house since I was two. Don't I have the right to see the sun once in a while? I don't need to be wreathed in darkness my entire life." His voice was suddenly a whisper. "Am I meant to feel like I'm in Azkaban?"

His language was oddly mature for so little a person. He'd read a lot, though. Kafrinis told him to read all he could get his hands on. Sometimes, he read the books aloud to the little snake.

Sirius sighed. "Do you want to play, too, Harry?"

"Your _friends_," the word was spat. "Are trapped inside. I'd suggest you go tend to them, rather than bothering to give your attention to a Freakish, Dark, Evil Little Boy."

Sirius, eyes wide, rushed inside. Peter watched him with curious eyes, unmoving as Brian played beside him.

Harry got the worst punishment yet for that.

Lily and James took him to the Specialist. Harry caught a few exchanged words.

"He did wandless magic! Just flung us at the wall like rag dolls-"

"You have to stop him! He's going out of control!"

"Talking to snakes, walking around like he's a king!"

"Don't worry," the specialist said in a sickeningly oily voice. "I'm sure something can be arranged."

Harry was grasped by the wrist and tugged into the Room. "Mum! Dad! Please!" Harry sobbed, reaching out a hand for his parents. They watched him with cold expressions as their son was dragged away.

That day, Harry was returned with a long, red gash across his face that was shaped like a lightning bolt. He was covered in bruises, uncontrollably trembling from nerve abuse. His eyes were haunted. He stared at his parents with a half swollen-up eye. "You did this to me," he said quietly. "I hate you. When I'm bigger and stronger, you'll pay."

For these hateful words, his parents refused to heal their child. The gash was infected, and Harry quickly became feverish and sickly. Kafrinis ended up stealing alcohol from his parents in a desperate effort to disinfect his wound. Medicine and ointment went missing from cabinets. The gash ended up forming a scar that dominated Harry's face, but Harry did not die from his infection for all of Kafrinis's bold efforts.

It was not long after that that Voldemort discovered that he had a son.

The Dark Lord was studying the heavy tome containing the details of the Slytherin lineage when he came upon a very interesting end to the book. A line connected him to Lily Potter, and connected from them both in a 'V' was Harry James Potter. The red eyes widened and Voldemort stood abruptly. The book fell from his lap.

He had an heir.

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**A/N: **I have something of a flair for the dramatic, if you couldn't already tell. I'll update as soon as I finish the next chapter. I have most of the plot worked out, but suggestions for side-plots would be appreciated. :)

Review? Thanks for reading. Tell me if I've made any embarrassing grammatical mistakes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Darkest Hour

**Author:** ryurazoo

**Rating:** Mature Teen

**Warnings:** Brief mentions of child abuse, violence, death, dark!Harry.

**Summary:** Harry was never a true child of the light. Shunned by his so-called family, he is taken into Voldemort's care after showing signs of uncontrollable, raw power and brought up as heir to the Dark Lord.

**Disclaimer:** Everything canon belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm not getting any money by writing this.

**Feedback:** Yes, please.

* * *

Harry's parents were even more paranoid after Harry's uncanny display of wandless magic. The average wizard could barely hope to cast a simple levitation spell without a wand, and Harry had done far more.

Lily, especially, watched him with suspicion and fear. He was more obviously the son of the Dark Lord than he had previously appeared to be, especially with that wicked-looking scar across his face (she ignored the fact that the scar was her fault in the first place). She knew that Voldemort was very powerful, but Lily hadn't thought that Harry would just as powerful as he. The aura of power around Harry was almost tangible. The air around him tasted metallic, and darkness and anger that was entirely out of place on a child's face flashed in Harry's eyes whenever they rested on James or Lily. And now, he nearly always had that hideous snake poking out of his sleeve, watching them with nearly as much suspicion as Lily watched the serpent itself with.

She didn't approach Harry about it. She was afraid, now, of what Harry could become.

She almost regretted sending Harry to the Dark Children Specialist that last time- she hadn't expected the man to...beat the boy, and had always believed Harry's sobbed complaints to be lies- but she couldn't have just let the child lord over them in their own home! What if he did something to Brian or Neville?

The snake, she mused, had to go. It might even be what was causing Harry to act like a young dark lord. After all, wasn't Voldemort himself a parselmouth?

Harry saw Lily watching him with increasing fear. It almost seemed like she was ready to send him back to the horrible _'specialist'_ again. He promised himself that he wouldn't ever agree to go back there. His parents couldn't make him.

But that last bit of wandless magic had left him drained. He was only young, after all, and there was a reason that children weren't taught magic until they were eleven- the magical core stabilized at that age. The drain of magic had left Harry feeling shaken, and he felt as if there was now a channel right through his magical core. He could almost feel his own power taking shape around him, hovering around his being protectively. Kafrinis, of course, approved of it, guessing that it would now be easier for Harry to access his magic and cast spells without a wand. Harry attempted a bit of magic, and his attempts were usually successful. It was unnerving, though, to feel his magic warp around him to do his bidding. He mostly worked on making it less detectable. He found that he could store it inside his core or let it flow around him, but keeping it inside left him feeling a little dizzy and caused him to contract irritating headaches. His work had, for the most part, paid off. He no longer glowed faintly with power unless he willed it, but the taste of metal followed Harry wherever he went.

Harry's scar was now long and jagged, his most defining feature. It made him look far less the innocent child than he used to look. Kafrinis often told him that it was nothing to be ashamed of, forked tongue darting out to affectionately lick the wound when Harry was upset. Kafrinis, Harry was assured, would never leave him. But his pet snake tried to warn Harry to have more caution around his parents. They'd already shown that they wouldn't be opposed to any drastic moves, or even deterred by the fact that Harry was still a small child.

Harry believed it, and attempted to stay out of his parents' way.

He hadn't been allowed to see his brother or Neville since the 'accident'. They likely didn't even know about the man that tortured Harry every time he showed that he was different. Harry spent his time in his room with his snake, struggling to read books that were far above a six-year-old's level- books on pureblood wizarding culture and any other books his parents had thrown out. He surveyed his guardians carefully and noted that his father, although a pureblood, acted as if he had next to no knowledge of the etiquette that was appropriate for his heritage. Sirius was much the same. Harry knew that both the Black and Potter families were very rich, and was confused as to why they both behaved like uncultured mudbloods. He didn't dare say as much, but his father seemed to dislike him even more once Harry began putting his knowledge to use. His manners were soon worthy of a Malfoy.

Harry was dismayed when his father's contempt only grew. This was how he was _supposed_ to behave, wasn't it? He expected approval and acceptance, not distaste. James had taken up angrily muttering about somehow raising an annoying little Lucius. Sirius seemed to sympathize, and that made Harry rather annoyed, though he hid it. He hid most of his emotions, now, as the heir to a pureblood fortune should. He always kept his cool, which only served to distance him from his family. Though his father didn't like Harry, he hadn't disinherited him yet.

Harry also began to regard his mother with disdain. She was muggleborn, after all. In turn, Lily was very much irritated that her six-year-old son somehow pulled off being condescending to her without saying a word.

The night before Harry's seventh birthday, Kafrinis lay coiled loosely around Harry's arm, diamond-shaped head resting on Harry's upturned palm. He surveyed his human in mild content. Harry was sleeping peacefully, the moon's pearly light reflecting off of his scar, eyelids trembling with dreams. The snake's tongue flicked out lazily to taste the air, and suddenly, its long body tensed.

_Harry's mother was in the room._

Kafrinis's head whipped around, then the serpent shrank back as Lily's hand reached out, pinching the serpent's mouth closed and using her other hand to uncoil the snake from Harry's arm. Kafrinis desperately wanted to call out. He was being taken from his human! He'd come to think of Harry as something akin to a son. He was horrified at how his 'real' parents treated him.

Thrashing and wriggling in Lily's grip, Kafrinis wondered if he'd ever get to see the dark-haired child again.

The day Harry turned seven, he woke up to find that his snake was gone. _"Kafrinis?"_ he hissed hesitantly. _"Kafrinis, where are you?"_ He quickly clambered out of his small cot. He couldn't remember a time when he'd woken up and his snake hadn't been by his side; the silence was strange, especially on his birthday. His serpent friend was usually enthusiastic when the day came around every year, and he was the only one who seemed inclined to celebrate Harry's birth. Quickly, he searched his room. He almost wished he were a snake himself, so that he could taste Kafrinis's scent in the air and find him.

He trekked downstairs and heard frantic, unintelligible hissing. It had to be his serpent! Frightened, now, Harry ran to the source of the noise- the kitchen- and saw his mother holding the twisting, black snake in one hand and her wand in the other. The snake's hopeful eyes looked to him. _"Harry- my son-"_

Lily cast a cutting curse, and the snake's head was severed from its body.

Harry screamed.

"YOU KILLED HIM!" he shrieked, unable to even look at his friend's mangled corpse. "Oh, Merlin- no- _Kafrinis!_" He began to sob while Lily looked on hesitantly. She hadn't expected so dramatic a response. The snake was somehow influencing Harry, she was sure of it. It was a simple garden snake. Surely it wasn't a big deal to off the disgusting, slimy little thing?

Just then, James walked into the kitchen, followed by Remus, Sirius, and Pettigrew. He didn't seem to even notice his distraught child. "Did you get rid of the-" he suddenly heard a stifled, shocked sob, and looked down to see Harry staring him with watery, red, hate-filled eyes. "You knew about this?" he demanded. He looked around at all the circle of adults, who all looked a little shocked.

Remus looked sickened by the snake's body and separated head on the table. "Lily, surely you didn't have to execute the thing in so violent a manner. And in front of Harry, too..." he trailed off regretfully as Harry's eyes darted around, accusation turning the green eyes dark. "You all knew about this! You killed my friend, I HATE YOU!" he screamed. Remus, in a futile attempt to comfort the boy, rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry-"

_"Don't talk to me, wolf!"_ he hissed, glaring at the man balefully.

"I told you that I wouldn't allow any snakes in my house-" Lily began primly, but stopped at Harry's expression. He stared at her coldly. _"Murderer."_ He raised up both hands, and the air tasted like metal- stifling and sharp. Then Harry closed his green eyes and clapped, once.

Suddenly, a pulse of energy ripped through the house, exploding into a blazing inferno. Windows imploded, sucked inwards as the fire hungrily sought oxygen.

A moment later, Harry stumbled out of the burning house, unharmed, and looked from side to side fearfully. No one followed him. James, Lily, and their friends were trapped in the burning house. Harry ran towards the woods outside of his house, sobbing in fear and sadness and rage. He wept for his serpent, needlessly killed. He wept for the parents that should have loved him. He collapsed and cried mindlessly on the leaves, too young to be able to absorb the trauma.

Harry only looked up when someone jogged up to him from the direction of the still-flaming building. He was a tall, handsome figure. The man looked at the sobbing seven-year-old with sympathy- the boy was too far gone to have noticed him casting the Dark Mark above the Potter house before coming to join him- and crouched down next to his despondent son. "Harry?" he said gently, trying not to scare the child off. He looked over the boy, seeing that he looked different than he had a moment before destroying the house. More like...him. It was somewhat uncanny, seeing someone with features similar to his own. Lily's glamour must have broken with her death.

Harry stared up at the man's red eyes as the stranger held out his hand. Voldemort barely suppressed anger when he saw the jagged scar that marred his young heir's face. He decided to question Harry later on how the scar had come to cross his otherwise angelic visage, once the boy had recovered sufficiently from his latest experience. "Come along. I'll take you somewhere you'll be safe from those murderers." Harry didn't seem to notice the irony in that statement. _"They killed Kafrinis," _Harry said frantically, unknowingly slipping into parseltongue. _"I had to!"_ Tom thought that perhaps Kafrinis was the snake he'd saw Lily kill. He'd barely arrived before the drama started to take place, after all- he wasn't sure what to think.

_"I know, child," _Voldemort assured his child in parseltongue, _"It's alright. Come along, now."_ Harry relaxed when he heard his mother tongue. His hand slipped into the Dark Lord's, and they walked away together with fire raging in their wake.

Dumbledore was appropriately distressed.

His lined, tired face rested in his palms. Lily, Harry, and James Potter were dead, as were Sirius, Remus, and Peter. The adults had all been valuable Order Members. They'd left one of their sons behind, alive- young Brian had been playing at Neville Longbottom's house- but really, what use was he to this fight? The Order needed to recruit, and soon. He was sad that such an innocent little boy had been lost, though...poor little Harry. He seemed a little dark, though. Perhaps his death was for the best.

The Order had been unwarned of the Death Eater attack at Godric's Hollow. Aurors had apparated to the scene only to find a greedy fire in the night, with the Dark Mark hovering ominously above. All the corpses had been burned to ash, so powerful was the fire. Dumbledore almost expected that this was the work of Voldemort himself. It had taken nearly all day to put out the fire. No one had ever seen anything like it before.

He told himself that he needed to reinforce the safety of Neville Longbottom, the subject of an important prophecy- he was destined to kill Voldemort, but this wasn't very likely at the tender age of seven- and he needed to do something about poor Brian Potter. He recalled Lily mentioning some relatives of hers. Perhaps Brian could go to them? He was sure that any relative of Lily's would be a kind soul. It was really the best place for him. It was good that the Potter line still had a chance for continuity.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, I don't like Dumbles. Manipulative old coot. :(

Anyway, was that enough drama for you guys? Tell me if you approved. I'm still trying to work out the general plot of next chapter, but I should be able to figure it out. Suggestions are always welcome.

Review? Thanks again for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Darkest Hour

**Author:** ryurazoo

**Rating:** Mature Teen

**Warnings:** violence, dark!Harry.

**Summary:** Harry was never a true child of the light. Shunned by his so-called family, he is taken into Voldemort's care after showing signs of uncontrollable, raw power and brought up as heir to the Dark Lord.

**Disclaimer:** Everything canon belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm not making any profit.

**Feedback:** Please.

* * *

Harry woke with a start in an unfamiliar room, hoping that the previous day had only been a nightmare.

_"Kafrinis?"_ he whispered into the half-light. When no answer came, he shuddered and crouched down lower in the lush bedclothes. Distantly, Harry realized that the sheets were silk, but this barely registered in his mind. Tears stained the soft pillows.

_"Are you awake, young Master?" _a high, cheerful voice asked. Harry jerked upright, angrily wiping his eyes. He didn't want anyone to see him looking so weak. _"Who's there?"_

His eyes darted around and he saw that the bed he was on was covered with elegant, green bedclothes.

A dark green snake raised itself to Harry's eye level, and Harry jumped in alarm. Yellow eyes met green. _"I am Ignacio. The Dark Lord would like you at breakfast in fifteen minutes. I will escort you as soon as you are ready, and there are robes for you to wear in the wardrobe."_

Harry gave a surprised, tense nod. The snake dropped to the floor and began to slither back towards the door. Its strong tail moved the handle, and it glided out. The door shut with a click.

Harry watched in bewilderment. He'd never seen Kafrinis open or close a door.

Slowly, he got up from his bed. So he'd been captured by the Dark Lord? Just his luck, really. The Dark Lord must be insane as everyone said he was if he insisted on his prisoners dressing up, then inviting them down for breakfast.

Opening the wardrobe with trembling hands, he paused, baffled, when he saw the elegant robes. They were a deep, emerald green- like his eyes. He removed the robes from the cabinet and, awed, felt the soft fabric glide over his fingertips. He shrugged it on. It felt cool and light against his skin.

Nervously, he opened the door and allowed the snake to escort him into his new life.

-x-

Voldemort did not take kindly to the prior treatment of his son. After Harry had stammered out his tale, he struggled to retain his cool demeanor.

The Dark Children Specialist was rather messily killed in a mysterious attack not long afterwards.

The Dark Lord renamed his son Harrison Adrian Riddle; he was loathe to have his son bear the name of his past guardian, who had mistreated him in the past. Even the name of his stupid muggle father was better than Potter's. He was surprised that Lily had even attempted to keep his child from him. If he was so unwelcome in the Potter home, why hadn't she simply delivered the boy to him? Harry was a child, not a prisoner of war. He had no idea how the light could claim to be so_ good _when they acted as they did. All of their leaders were corrupt and manipulative. Where Voldemort was evil, at least he admitted it was so- and he was far more straightforward about it. His ultimate goal was to replace the depraved, unscrupulous wizarding government of today. The current minister, Cornelius Fudge, was an utter idiot. His aurors ran about arresting anyone who performed dark magic, used in a beneficial way or not.

Voldemort decided to keep Harry a secret from everyone: the Order of the Phoenix, the outside world, even most of his Death Eaters but a few select members of his inner circle until Harry was fully trained. These choice Death Eaters- Bellatrix Lestrange, Severus Snape, and Lucius Malfoy- would tutor Harry when Voldemort couldn't. He was a rather busy man, after all, and they were quite good at what they did, if somewhat harsh. The Dark Lord couldn't expect his followers to be kind, not even for his son and heir. He didn't mind, as long as they knew not to overstep their bounds.

He trusted all of them, but didn't want to take any chances. They were all bound to secrecy with an Unbreakable Vow.

-x-

When Harry first met Lucius, a week or so after his arrival, he realized that this was who James Potter had talked about when claiming his manners were more suited to a Malfoy. Harry didn't see anything wrong with being a Malfoy; Lucius was elegant and cool. He might as well have written the book Harry had treasured so much on pureblood traditions. He was the perfect model of everything the book described.

Harry, of course, was eager to learn. Lucius more than pleased to give him a few more books on pureblood wizarding culture, since Harry's had been destroyed in the fire. Though Harry wasn't a pureblood, he certainly was of worthy descent- the heir of Salazar Slytherin himself. Lucius told him that he had a son who was Harry's age, but Harry never got to meet him.

His lessons were normally rather intense, considering his teachers. Bellatrix, though rather insane, was a competent (if brutal) teacher. She knew quite a bit about the dark arts, which was Harry's strongest area. He'd been learning magic from being quite young, after all. He and Bellatrix often worked on casting spells wandlessly- it would be very useful in dueling, especially if he could learn to simultaneously cast a spell with a wand and without. As it was, wandless magic often left him exhausted. He found that the more he practiced, the less it tired him out.

His wand, gifted to him shortly before his lessons began, was dark and smooth. It emitted green sparks when he held it for the first time, to Harry's delight. His father informed him that his personal wandmaker had constructed it- blackthorn with dragon heartstring, eleven inches- and that it was untraceable by the ministry so he could use it freely.

Harry also loved learning combat and weaponry, but was frustrated when he found that being as young as he was left him at something of a disadvantage in a fight. He wasn't very strong without magic. Being small and quick were his only strengths, and that usually wasn't very much help. His fighting soon became zealous and creative; Lucius was pleased with his progress. Harry did well in a fair fight.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the nature of Death Eaters to play fair.

Harry was forced to learn how to fight dirty. It became far more interesting after that.

After a while, Harry began to feel a bit...useless. Apart from learning, he did precious little. He had no friends his age; his only social interactions were with his tutors, his father, a few house elves (who were often too busy groveling to have a proper conversation), and the various snakes that inhabited Riddle Manor. Though Snape's dry wit was rather entertaining and he enjoyed the company of his father, he felt isolated. He couldn't leave the premises, and, though the grounds were extensive, he was trapped there.

He wanted to go on missions.

He begged his father to be able to participate in raids, often eavesdropping on his battle plans (he was fairly sure his father was humouring him in this; if he didn't want Harry to hear, he wouldn't have heard a word).

Harry was especially interested in the Philosopher's Stone. He hadn't wanted the Dark Lord to entrust his spy in Hogwarts with so delicate a matter. Harry was quite sure that he, as a child, would be under less suspicion. After all, Hogwarts was full of children, and he was the right age for registration.

Sadly, Voldemort was firm in his decision. He was sure that Snape would make sure Quirinus Quirrell would get the stone for him, and he didn't want Harry to go to Hogwarts on a mission before he was ready for it.

Harry stood by his point: this was too delicate a matter to give to anyone but his inner circle, or better yet, Harry.

"You'll get your chance, Harrison," Voldemort assured him. "Once you complete your training, I'll send you on your first mission."

"But I'm ready now!" Harry protested. Though he rarely appeared passionate, this was something he felt was his responsibility.

"You're not ready now. You'd be hard-pressed to beat even the older _students_ in Hogwarts at your current level. Give it a few years, Harry," the Dark Lord replied, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Go on, then. You'll be late for potions. You know how Severus gets."

_"Yes, father," _Harry muttered in a petulant hiss. His father raised an eyebrow. Harry turned and left before Voldemort could see him flush. If he continued to behave like a child, he told himself, then his father would always see him as one. After that, he committed himself to working harder and acting more mature. He didn't have a very clear picture of how a normal eleven-year-old acted. The youngest humans he saw were glimpses of his father's new recruits, recently graduated from school.

He soon developed a cold, somewhat fierce manner that was unnerving to see in someone his age. The only one who really noticed this strangeness was Severus Snape, who had spent far too much time around children at Hogwarts. He didn't spend quite as much time at Riddle Manor as Bellatrix and Lucius did, so the change in Harry seemed more apparent to him. Most of his days were spent at Hogwarts, where he could spy on Dumbledore and the Order.

Needless to say, Harry was rather annoyed when Quirrell failed.

-x-

Over the years, Harry grew fond of his teachers, even Bellatrix- who was ridiculously sadistic and more than a little unhinged. In fact, he found her antics quite humourous. In turn, Bella, Lucius, and Severus started to enjoy teaching Harry. He was a more determined pupil than most.

When Harry was fourteen, he completed his training. He'd gone above and beyond what was required of him, and his teachers had precious little left to teach. What Harry needed now was experience.

In the time he'd spent with his father- about seven years- Harry had grown to be a handsome young man. He looked quite similar to his ageless, dark-haired father. (Harry never was sure of Voldemort's age. He suspected a de-aging potion. Sad how those potions didn't work on internal organs; the Dark Lord was still looking for immortality.)

As for Harry, his own glamour charms Lily had given him at his birth ended with her death.

Harrison Riddle was slender and lithe, with aristocratic features and a soft, full mouth. His eyes were a startling _avada kedavra _green, a color as strong as his father's own red eyes. He was a tall youth, and his training in hand-to-hand fighting had left him with something of a predatory gait. His movements were fluid and deliberate, and though he wasn't quite as small as he used to be, he never lost his uncanny speed.

At the moment, though, he was tense. His posture was stiff, but proper as always as he stood before the Dark Lord. "I've completed my training now, father," he began. His voice was steady, but tight with barely suppressed anticipation. "Is it time for me to take on a mission? I'm ready now, I swear it."

Voldemort smiled slightly. His son had always been eager to prove himself. If he kept Harry waiting for much longer, the boy might- Godric forbid- lose his composure. "I believe there's something you can do...but it's a very delicate mission. It may take a year or more before the pivotal stages can be carried out."

In truth, as Harry had started to near the end of his training, Voldemort had begun to personalize this mission for Harry to undertake. He'd have assistance, of course, but the bulk of the mission would rest on him. He knew that he could trust his son.

Barty Crouch was also eager to prove himself. He would aid with the sabotage the Dark Lord was planning.

"And what does this mission entail, my lord?" Harry's voice was cool, but his eyes were bright and earnest.

"You're going to go to Hogwarts."

Harry's eyes widened, and for the first time in a while, he allowed himself to grin.

The expression looked a little off, and rather out of place.

* * *

**A/N: **I was a bit hard-pressed to get my standard 2000 words out of this chapter. Sorry if I went off on too many tangents- where the other chapters didn't have specific parameters, this one did. Next chapter, the story really begins. The first three have mostly been background.

Thanks for reading. I'm ridiculously happy with the response I'm getting from this story.

Review?


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Darkest Hour

**Author:** ryurazoo

**Rating:** Mature Teen

**Warnings:** violence, dark!Harry.

**Summary:** Harry was never a true child of the light. Shunned by his so-called family, he is taken into Voldemort's care after showing signs of uncontrollable, raw power and brought up as heir to the Dark Lord.

**Disclaimer:** Everything canon belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm not making any monetary gain.

**Feedback:** Would be wonderful.

* * *

Harry was quite annoyed with the abrupt, violent way that floo powder induced travel. Happily, there was only a house elf in the entry hall of Malfoy Manor to see him stumble out of the green flames. Quickly, he composed himself, brushing the soot off of his robes with the back of one hand.

He frowned at the house elf. Its enormous, luminous eyes stared back at him. It wrung its hands nervously. "Dobby is taking you to see Master Lucius now!" it squeaked. Harry eyed its grimy pillowcase in distaste. The Riddle house elves kept their garments clean.

"Lead the way, then," he replied. The house elf scurried to do his bidding, looking back every few moments to make sure he was following. The sheer size of the manor was ridiculous. No one family needed all this space, surely? Riddle Manor was decently sized, but this place was the equivalent of a small village. Looking around dubiously, Harry and the elf ascended several ostentatious marble staircases and went down a hall before the house elf gestured to a door to Harry's left.

"Master's study is being through there!" Dobby exclaimed. The elf's enthusiasm was rather...unnerving. He nodded dismissively at the creature and it disapparated with a sharp _crack_.

Harry rapped his knuckles against the door. "Lucius?" he called. His voice echoed in the wide marble hall.

"Come in," Lucius called.

Harry opened the door (was that doorknob actually crystal?) and spotted Lucius at a desk at the far end of the room, next to a wall that was a sheer pane of glass. The sun made the Malfoy's hair painfully bright. Harry had to try quite hard to refrain from squinting.

"Harry," Lucius acknowledged, rising from his desk. "I trust you are well?"

"I am, thank you," Harry replied, trying not to show his impatience. He didn't feel the need to exchange pleasantries. "Will we be taking a portkey to the Quidditch Cup or apparating?"

"Draco doesn't know how to apparate," Lucius replied. Harry remembered faintly that Draco was Lucius's son. "We'll be taking a timed portkey in an hour. From there, you'll go directly to the tent and stay there until the games begin. Remember that you're a victim. There won't be any opportunity to wander about," he said sternly.

Harry gave him a level stare. "I'm quite well versed with the intricacies of the mission. There's no need to go over these things with me," he informed the pureblood coolly.

Lucius looked away briefly. Harry's eyes were a little too penetrating for comfort. "Yes, well...what exactly would these intricacies be?" he asked, finally looking up.

Harry raised a dark eyebrow. "If my father did not see fit to share any information beyond your own involvement-"

"I'm actually quite interested in _Crouch's_ involvement. Why him and not one of the inner circle? He boasts of being the Dark Lord's most loyal, but despite his supposed devotion, his rank is nothing to speak of."

"Others should be given the chance to prove themselves. Father is only being fair," Harry scoffed, eyes narrowing. Was Lucius jealous? Harry certainly didn't envy Crouch, having to pose as a mad old auror and nearly constantly consume that foul potion. But then, Lucius wasn't fully certain on what the mission entailed.

"But on such a delicate mission, one would think...."

"Which is why I'm going to oversee and guide Crouch's progress. He's a mere pawn, Lucius. Don't concern yourself over this."

Lucius looked thoughtful. "And does dear Barty know of your involvement?"

"I'll tell him as soon as the need arises. Our plans coincide at a point. Before then, I doubt he'd take kindly to being monitored by a teenager."

"A well-trained teenager," Lucius prompted.

"You're biased," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. He tried to remain in good humour, but he didn't take kindly to being referred to as if he were a dog. "Have I eased your curiosity? I won't give away further plans the Dark Lord would not have you privy to," he ended, somewhat sharply. Lucius nodded wordlessly. "And my son? What is he to know of our charade?"

"Nothing. He'll treat me as suspected traitor, and I'll behave accordingly. You haven't told him about me, have you? And he hasn't met my father?" Harry queried.

"I'm under the Unbreakable Vow," Lucius reminded him, a little condescendingly. Harry frowned at his tone. "And my father?"

"He looks forward to joining him, but hasn't met him yet."

"Have you told...what was it? Draco? Of your supposed suspicions?" Harry asked.

"Of course. I'm quite competent, you know. The Dark Lord's trust isn't misplaced- I rarely make mistakes," Lucius assured him, chuckling a little.

"It's my responsibility to assure that everything goes smoothly, Lucius. Don't patronize me."

"I would never, My Lord!" Lucius feigned a shocked expression. Harry's cold expression remained until Lucius's smile began to fade. Then, he let out a reluctant snicker. "I'll let that slide for now, Lucius. But you're not my teacher anymore. I can't let my father's followers make fun of his heir, even in idle sport."

The Malfoy patriarch sighed. "I know, I know." There was a soft knock on the door. Lucius gave Harry a look, but the teenager suddenly looked smaller. He no longer seemed to exude power and confidence. Harry met Lucius's sideways glance and gave a small smirk.

He had to give it to Harry. The boy was a good actor.

"Come in," he called. A pale, blonde boy with finely chiseled features strode into the office arrogantly. "Father, the portkey's set to leave in fifteen- oh." He suddenly saw Harry. His gaze immediately turned hostile.

"This is Harrison," Lucius introduced.

"I'd already deduced that," Draco replied with a small sneer. Harry frowned a little. "And you must be Draco," he said dismissively. The silver eyes were immediately irritated. He obviously believed that 'suspected traitor' nonsense. Harry turned to Lucius. "We should probably get to the portkey. Merlin knows how long it'll take to walk to wherever you've put it in this enormous place." He saw Draco smirking in his peripheral vision.

"Very well," Lucius replied, rising. "Shall we leave? Draco, where's your mother?"

"She's already in the second story parlor in the east wing."

Lucius nodded. "Draco, would you take Harry down there? I'm going to apparate. I need to speak with Narcissa."

The walk with Draco was less than pleasant. Draco didn't even look at him except for the odd contemptuous glance. Harry ignored him outright.

The manor stretched before them in a seemingly endless length of decadence.

-x-

Harry sat in the Malfoy's enormous tent, brooding.

He was _bored_. All he'd really been able to do at the World Cup so far was sit here. He'd gone outside once or twice with Draco, allowing himself to be seen by the famous Neville Longbottom, but this barely lessened the monotony. Harry had to act uncomfortable and a little shifty, leaving the 'Chosen One' wondering who he was. The plan had worked so far. Neville had scrutinized him visibly- he was like an open book. The suspicion was plain on his face.

Prior to their arrival, Harry had prepared to be intrigued- Neville hardly could look like the pompous little boy he remembered from his childhood.

Strangely, he resembled this image quite a bit. Harry was disappointed.

The prophesied 'Savior of the Wizarding World' hardly looked like he'd be able to take on Dobby, nevermind defeat the Dark Lord. If the boy really ended up slaying his father, Harry guessed that it would probably be an accident, rather than an epic battle. Harry had to refrain from giving a disdainful snort once he saw the Boy Wonder. Instead, he gave a tentative smile and Neville had smiled hesitantly back before Draco and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, dragged him away. It was all working out quite well, really.

He was quite put out that he couldn't actually attend the Quidditch World Cup. His absence would only arouse more suspicion with Longbottom, and that was absolutely necessary. He supposed the games were probably over by now.

-x-

It had been dark for a while, now. Harry was tense and alert, eyes darting to and fro every few seconds. He was worried. The entire mission could go very wrong if Neville wasn't as trusting as he and his father believed him to be. It was unthinkable that he could fail. As soon as he saw Lucius's patronus, everything would be set in motion.

A peacock materialized before him, pale and misty. It emitted a silvery glow.

Nice timing.

It opened its beak and began to speak in Lucius's voice. _"It has begun."_

Slowly, it disappeared. Harry rose quickly, staring at the spot where the patronus had stood for a moment. It had begun, indeed.

Harry ran out of the tent and into the night. There should be time for him to run to Neville's tent before chaos broke out. He maneuvered himself through the encampment, weaving in and out through the mass of tents and the few wizards that were still awake. He barely had time to see their affronted faces before he ran through, feet barely touching the ground with his speed.

Swiftly, he sprinted to where he knew the Chosen One's tent to be. He tore open the flap that led inside, eyes darting around to make sure that this was Neville's tent. The tent was quite a bit smaller than the Malfoy's, but that was only to be expected. "Neville!" he yelled. His voice bordered hysteria, the effect only enhanced because he was out of breath. He saw, in the back of the tent, a figure bolt upright blinking stupidly. Perfect. He was certainly in the right place."What is it? Who's there?" Longbottom called out.

"Neville, you've got to get out of here- the Death Eaters-" he rushed out. "They're coming!"

"But-"

"You've got to leave!" Harry shouted. Suddenly, there was an explosion. Harry heard screams. Oh, this was_ perfect_.

"Aren't you with the Malfoys?!" Neville yelped, clambering out of his bed. His pyjamas had little Snitches on them. How...quaint.

"I had to warn you! They already suspect me of being a traitor, it's too late-"

A determined look came over Neville's face. "I'll get you to safety." Harry was almost surprised. The legendary hero complex was real, then. He'd been relying on this.

Neville opened a flap in his tent. His eyes went wide. Harry could just see the Dark Mark hovering over the forest through the opening. An uncertain look came over Neville's face. "But- my friends-" Merlin! The hero thing was bigger than Harry thought it was. He really thought he could fight his way through Voldemort's inner circle?

"They're not targeting your friends, Neville. They're targeting _you_." Harry thought that might have come out sounding a bit too harsh, but it seemed to get the point across.

Neville was rummaging through a trunk. Ridiculous. If the Death Eaters really wanted to find him, he'd be dead by now. Where on Earth was his wand?

The boy held something gold up. "This is an emergency portkey. We can use it to get to a safe haven." Belatedly, Harry realized it was a snitch. "Here, grab on!" Harry stepped forward and grasped an iridescent gold wing. "Gryffindor!" Neville breathed. It must have been the activation word, because next thing Harry knew, he felt a hook pull just behind his navel and his world began to blur with portkey-induced travel.

-x-

He was deposited unceremoniously in a tastelessly furnished living room. It was cluttered and chaotic. Harry felt a spark of trepidation. He had absolutely no idea where Neville had taken them.

He looked to his left and saw Neville looking around with a disturbingly fond look on his face.

"Where are we?" Harry demanded.

"The burrow," Neville replied.

"The what?"

Neville seemed to be ignoring him. "Where's Molly?" he muttered. Harry frowned and scanned his surroundings. This was someone's house- there were personal items strewn about and he could see a kitchen through a doorway.

He looked up and saw a clock with far more hands than were typical of such devices. Harry frowned. Several of the hands seemed to be pointed to 'mortal peril'. How odd.

He'd had enough of Neville's silence. "Neville," he said loudly. The boy turned to him startled. "What?"

"_Where are we_?!"

"This is the Weasleys' house. Have you heard of them? Oh- Molly!"

Harry grimaced. Oh, he'd heard of the Weasleys. He thought he'd heard Draco mention something about plebian, red-haired blood traitors that bred like rabbits. He turned around and saw a short, red-haired woman standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

Ah. It must be a Weasley. "Oh!" she exclaimed, eyes wide. "Neville! What are you doing here? Where's Arthur?" she looked rather confused. She suddenly spotted Harry. Her eyes widened. "Who's this?"

Harry gave a charming smile. "My name's Harrison. You can call me Harry."

Molly gave him a flustered look. "But-"

"Molly," Neville said, voice soothing, "there's been an attack at the World Cup. Harry escaped the Death Eaters to warn me. We only just managed to portkey here before they struck the camp!"

Molly looked distinctly worried now. "Oh, you poor dears-" she glanced at the clock and her she took on a distressed expression. "Come into the kitchen, I'll get you some hot chocolate."

* * *

**A/N: **Sorry I couldn't update yesterday. I had to run errands, then I went to go see Clash of the Titans (wasn't as epic as I expected).

Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter. Review?


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: **Darkest Hour

**Author:** ryurazoo

**Rating: **Mature Teen

**Warnings:** Brief mentions of child abuse, powerful!Harry.

**Summary: **Harry was never a true child of the light. Shunned by his so-called family, he is taken into Voldemort's care after showing signs of uncontrollable, raw power and brought up as heir to the Dark Lord.

**Disclaimer: **I'm just playing with the characters. Ms. Rowling may snatch them back whenever she likes. Also, I'm making no money from this work of fiction. :)

**Feedback: **My thoughts exactly. Er. Your thoughts, I mean. :/

* * *

The Weasley's turned out to be far more hospitable than Harry had anticipated. It was actually very annoying, being constantly offered hot drinks and reassuring words. He met these irritating offerings, however, with kind words and a charming smile.

He thought he was going to throw up if this went on any longer. It was all so sickeningly sweet.

And _Longbottom_. Stupid, pompous, infuriating Longbottom! He was, disgustingly, the _epitome_ of a Gryffindor. Reckless, noble, selfless…Harry barely could suppress a sneer at the very thought of him.

A clammy hand clasped onto his shoulder. Harry forcefully pushed away the urge to shake off the hand and fling about the_ cruciatus_ curse- yes, he was _that_ edgy- and calmly turned, raising an inquisitive brow.

"You alright, Harry?" Neville Longbottom asked concernedly.

Harry glanced at the moist palm-print on his expensive new robes and took a deep, calming breath. "I'm fine, thank you," he replied. He thought for a moment about what he could say. He was good at deceiving people, but all the same, he was used to telling people exactly what he really thought of them. He had a feeling that his opinions on the Chosen One would be unwelcome. "I'm very grateful that you helped me escape in time," Harry said carefully.

Neville beamed. "Thanks for warning me about the attack." Harry gave a short nod.

Neville took this as a signal to continue, but looked uncertain. Harry thought that he'd probably expected a far more sincere response. "Molly says that it's died down now- probably because they couldn't find me-"

Harry had to shut his eyes for a moment, lest his irritation glittered in their depths. The self-absorbed little blighter…but then, Harry had hinted not-so-subtly that Neville was the target of the assailment.

"-and the only people that were affected by the attack were a few muggles, but they've already been healed and obliviated."

"That's wonderful, Neville," Harry said with a curve to his lips that was barely passable as a smile. Harry hadn't ever got the hang of smiling.

Neville seemed to think the expression was sincere, though. "Yeah, well…it's not like I did anything…" he said, sounding a bit put out.

"You helped me escape, and by escaping yourself, the violence quickly dissipated. You should be proud, Neville," Harry replied charmingly.

Neville sheepishly rubbed the back of his head and beamed at the praise.

The house trembled briefly, and suddenly, there was an explosion of voices.

Great. The 'Burrow' was so poorly structured that it shook when the door opened. Harry sighed. He'd grown up in various mansions. This place was almost small enough to give Harry claustrophobia. And it was _lopsided_. Who the fuck built this place, blind garden gnomes?

"Hello, there," said a voice from the kitchen doorway.

"Hello, Arthur!" Neville replied with nauseating enthusiasm. Harry frowned a little. Lucius had been right. Blood-traitors had very little in the way of manners.

"And who's this?" Arthur asked brightly, glancing at Harry.

"Harrison Raizel," Harry presented himself, standing gracefully and holding out a hand. "Mr. Weasley, I presume?"

"Er…yes," the red-haired man replied, shaking his hand limply- it was sweaty and horrible- and letting go. Harry's hand dropped to his side and he subtly wiped his filthy hand off, pretending to smooth the miniscule creases in his robes.

"He warned me of the attack. He escaped from the Death-Eaters…" Neville explained. "They already were suspecting him of being a traitor. Right, Harry?"

"That's correct," Harry replied easily.

"But…you're a bit young to be a Death Eater, aren't you?" Arthur asked, frowning.

"I'm not marked," Harry said, rolling up a sleeve to show the man. "I was staying with the Malfoy's before the world cup and I heard them discussing the raid…"

As Harry explained further, Arthur nodded sympathetically. He was eating it up. Harry, however, was nearly choking on all the bullshit that was spewing from his mouth.

By the time he was finished, quite a few more people were sitting around the spacious table, listening.

"That's perfectly awful," said a bushy-haired girl sitting across from him. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Harry!"

"I'm here, now, though. As long as I don't have to go back after this…"

"Oh, no, dear! Certainly not. You'll be going to Hogwarts, and you can stay with us in the summer if you need to! You said you've had tutors?"

"Yes," replied the fake illegitimate child of Augustus Rockwood's bastard sister. How gullible could these people be? "But I'm afraid I might be a little ahead. I've learned some very advanced stuff, though I'm only fourteen."

"That's alright, you'll just be in the same year as Neville. I doubt you've gone through the entire Hogwarts curriculum up to fourth year!" she giggled.

Oh, yes he had- thanks to Severus.

"Perhaps not," he allowed, flashing a charming smile that didn't reach his eyes. Perhaps his smile was better than he'd thought it was. People responded to the expression accordingly…

"Might I be introduced to the rest of these people, Molly?" Harry asked. Molly smiled in a motherly way that made Harry stiffen a little in his seat. Harry didn't respond well to motherly-ness. Bellatrix had been the main female influence in his life, and she hadn't exactly been the coddling type.

"Of course, dear."

Harry scanned the people at the table. One of them looked eerily familiar…a boy with auburn hair wearing ill-fitting, round glasses over his brown eyes. He was quite short, looking a bit younger than a few of the students here, and scrawny, as if he hadn't eaten for a while. Harry frowned.

"This is Hermione Granger, Neville's clever friend…she'll be in the same year as you…Ron Weasley, my son…Brian Potter, a second year and one of Neville's friends…"

Harry froze. This boy was his half-brother. The boy that had gotten all of Lily and James's attention. The boy who wallowed in love while Harry was shunned in darkness, and who Harry had orphaned.

Harry swallowed.

"…and this is Tonks, training to be an auror, you know…Fred, George, Percy- they're some of my other sons- and my daughter, Ginny." Salazar, they really did breed like rabbits… "And of course, you already know Neville and Arthur."

Harry nodded slowly. "I'm pleased to meet you all," he said, avoiding his brother's eyes. "My name is Harrison Raizel. You can call me Harry."

-x-

Dinner was a noisy affair, rambunctious and disorderly. Dinner at home had usually been stately and dignified, though not cold. He always sat close to his father. Lucius, Bella, or Severus was often in attendance. The conversation had been intelligent and interesting.

But this- this was chaos.

Over the noise, Granger, the mudblood, attempted conversation with him. "It'll probably take you a while to catch up," she said. "Hogwarts is a very advanced, fine institution. Are you sure you'll be accepted? You have to be very magically mature, you know, to handle-"

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Harry interjected dryly. He could cast advanced wandless magic directed by will alone by the time he was six. He was fairly sure he was good enough for Hogwarts.

"What house do you think you'll be in?" Ron queried eagerly. Harry shrugged. "No idea," he lied. Of course, he expected to be in Slytherin.

"You'll probably be in Gryffindor. You seem pretty brave," Neville said pompously. Harry looked up curiously. "Is anyone here _not_ in Gryffindor?"

"Nope!" Neville replied happily.

Harry glanced at Brian. He wasn't surprised the little twat was in Gryffindor.

"Interesting," he said finally.

"Slytherins are prats, though. You'll have to stay away from them," Ron added. Harry frowned. "So if I was in Slytherin, would you suddenly start hating me just for being in a different house from you?"

"I might do," Ron sniffed. Harry's eyes narrowed and he looked back down at his mashed potatoes. He barely listened as Hermione berated the blood traitor. He'd decided already that he despised being in the presence of his enemies and having to act chummy with them. One didn't have to be _nice_, per se, to manipulate others. He could not act this congenial for an entire year. He doubted that everyone would remain convinced of his sincerity, especially once he was sorted into Slytherin.

"Don't the ambitious end up in Slytherin?" Harry asked coolly.

"Yes. Yes, they do," Brian finally spoke up quietly. Harry's cold gaze shifted to the small boy. "Slytherins aren't all that bad." Brian was looking down. When he looked up, his brown-eyed gaze burned into Harry's curious, vivid scrutiny. "But they can be. Everyone has the potential to do terrible things. Slytherins just are more susceptible."

Harry raised a mocking eyebrow. "How very insightful. So nice of you to pity the poor, poor Slytherins that might be tempted to go dark." He allowed himself a small sneer. "Sadly, dear Brian, not everybody has a choice."

Brian barely reacted to his snub but for an annoying sullen expression. He changed the topic. "How'd you get that scar? _Diffindo_ makes a straight line."

_Harry thrashed and screamed as the jagged, rusty blade entered his line of vision. "Stop wriggling!" came the voice of the person he hated and feared most in the world. "You're only getting what you deserve, freak!"_

_Harry screwed his eyes shut, a keening wail escaping him as the knife dug in deep to the skin of his forehead and dragged down over his eye, making an uneven laceration vaguely reminiscent of a lightning bolt that ended at his chin._

"Stop!_" he screamed. "Please! _I'll be good_, I promissse!" he sobbed in a strange mixture of Parseltongue and English. But it didn't stop. He never did._

Of course, he hadn't been allowed near his brother after that display of wandless magic. Brian wouldn't recognize the scar.

"It was a knife. I'd rather not talk about it," Harry said shortly, meeting his brother's eyes with something of a glare before looking back down again.

"You poor thing!" Molly exclaimed, bustling around the table, pulling him to his feet, and stifling him in a hug. Harry stiffened, hands at his sides and clenched into fists.

Harry did not like people touching him, and was hard-pressed not to curse her with something nasty. She didn't let go until the blood-boiling hex was at the tip of his tongue. His magic swirled around him agitatedly, ready to do his bidding.

He brushed off his robes, face expressionless but flushed with anger. His mind screamed at the outrage of it all. The Dark Lord's heir, being hugged by a blood traitor? Disgraceful. He had killed for lesser offences.

He felt violated.

"Would you mind terribly if I took a shower and retired for the night? It's been a long day," Harry murmured to the Weasley matriarch. "Is there a place I'd be able to sleep?" the 'S' noises in his sentences were sibilant and smooth. His perfect, upper-class accent slipped a little so that it reminded him of the lilting, silky tones of Parseltongue. It tended to happen when he was angry or annoyed. Full-blown Parseltongue usually only occurred when his temper was well and truly lost.

And when he was with his father, he could freely speak it.

"I'll make a bed up for you in Ron's room. The bathroom is upstairs, down the hall to the right. Just shout once you're done, alright?"

"Very well," Harry replied, though he was a little appalled that he'd have to shout. Instead, he tentatively stretched out his magic to her and sampled her magical signature. He noted that she was disgustingly weak for a pureblood before concluding that he'd be able to find her later if he wished by the scent of her signature.

He walked upstairs, ignoring the guests that were staring at his back.

The bathroom was horribly small. He shut the door and then sneered openly at his surroundings before stripping. He turned on the shower then turned to the mirror while the water heated up. He regarded his wiry muscles. They barely added any bulk to his appearance; he knew he'd always be petite, even if he was toned.

No matter. His lightness made him fast.

He took another moment to examine his angular face, surrounded by black, slightly wavy hair. It looked pale. He hadn't had much sleep lately. His green eyes glared at him, the sooty eyelashes above and below, a frown on his pillowy lips. The scar ran down his face in a thick rope of dark pink tissue.

His pale hands clutched the bowl of the sink, knuckles stretched and bloodless as he looked into his eyes. No matter how hard this mission proved to be, he would persevere. He couldn't allow any errors. This operation was more intricate than he'd supposed, but he was certain he was capable of it.

Over the roaring of the shower, he murmured softly in Parseltongue: _"I will not fail you, father."_

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**A/N:** I'm so terribly sorry for not updating for so long. First, there were finals...then I went to England to visit relatives...then France for more holiday-ish purposes...then Germany because it was close...then back to America. After that, I was doing summer homework and working on a Severitus fic I've been planning on writing for a while. (Anyone know of a historical book from the revolutionary/colonial periods? I'm doing AP US history next year...D:)

The next update won't take as long unless some disastrous occurrence pops up- and let's hope that doesn't happen. Regardless, the fall term of school will start soon, and I have a driving test to study for, so don't expect updates every day.

Tell me what you think about this chapter! I re-read the previous ones, and they seemed a little rushed/immature. :( Hopefully, this one was a little better.

I love reviews. :)

'Ta.

-Ryu


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Darkest Hour

**Author:** ryurazoo

**Rating:** Mature Teen

**Warnings:** Brief mentions of child abuse, powerful!Harry, dark!Harry, AU

**Summary:** Harry was never a true child of the light. Shunned by his so-called family, he is taken into Voldemort's care after showing signs of uncontrollable, raw power and brought up as heir to the Dark Lord.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling & co. do, etc, etc...

**Feedback:** Is excellent.

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Ron's room was absolutely frightful. It was like a nightmare; all the walls a horrid orange colour, Chudley Canons posters haphazardly stuck to the lurid walls. It made Harry want to curse Ron so badly that his wand hand was twitching.

"So," Ron said awkwardly, "That's your bed, there…"

Harry walked over to the mattress and felt the cotton sheets between his fingers. They were rough. The thread count, he thought with disdain, was probably about five. Ugh. He already missed his green silk sheets at Riddle Manor…

"Sorry, I know the mattress is lumpy…" Ron continued, rubbing the back of his head. Harry inwardly winced. "It's perfectly fine," Harry said stiffly. "Thank you for sharing your room with me. It is very generous of you."

"Oh, it's no problem. It's not like we'd leave you out on the streets," Ron grinned. "I don't mind."

"Quite," was all Harry could think to say. He flicked a piece of raven-wing black hair out of his eyes.

"You don't snore, do you?" Ron asked a bit anxiously. Harry couldn't suppress a small sneer. "Of course not," he said shortly. "And even if I did, I would use a silencing spell out of courtesy. We are not muggles."

"Yeah, well, no underage magic, right?"

Harry's jaw clenched and unclenched with frustration. "Indeed." He precisely unbuttoned his shirt, fingers moving deftly. "You don't happen to have any spare pyjamas, do you?"

"Actually," Ron said awkwardly, "I only have the one pair. Mum made my old ones into a nightdress for Ginny, y'see…"

How poor _were_ these people? Harry grimaced a little. He was staying among plebeians. It was almost unreal. "Very well. I'll just-"

"You can sleep in your smalls. I don't mind," said Ron with a shrug.

Harry was going to suggest transfiguring his daytime clothes, but he supposed he couldn't have done magic in front of Ron anyway. He tugged his shirt off and unbuttoned his trousers as he watched the broomsticks fly about on Ron's pyjamas. He was almost glad the redhead didn't have spare ones, as they'd likely be appallingly childish.

"Right," Harry said haltingly as he folded his clothes neatly and placed them on a chair, clad only in black silk boxers. "I'm going to sleep now. Good night."

"Yeah. G'night," Ron replied.

Harry slipped between coarse sheets and sighed as Ron turned the lights off. The sheets rubbed unpleasantly on his bare skin. He pushed his occlumency barriers up, feeling his eyes slipping closed.

-x-x-x-

Harry woke up when his wand vibrated under his pillow at seven-thirty. He sat up and winced at the soreness in his back. That had been the most uncomfortable bed he could remember sleeping on.

He got up and stretched leisurely.

Ron was snoring.

Harry scowled.

After he had donned his robes, he walked down stairs. Mrs. Weasley was awake; Harry could already smell the breakfast she was making. It smelled like it involved lots of grease.

"Good morning, Mr. Weasley," he said politely. Mrs. Weasley jumped and turned, egg dripping off the spatula still held in one hand.

Harry glanced at the yellow goop on the floor. The only outward sign of his disgust was briefly flared nostrils. He gave a tight smile to the Weasley matriarch.

"Er, hello, dear! Didn't think you'd be up so soon!" she said brightly. "You surprised me!"

"I make it a point to not waste my days in the idle leisure of sleep," Harry said lazily, the emerald orbs of his eyes flicking around the cluttered kitchen.

"Yes, well-," Molly said awkwardly, "would you like some eggs? They'll be ready soon."

"I'd be delighted to sample some of your cooking, Mrs. Weasley…but I must admit that I quite detest eggs," Harry said with what he hoped was a sheepish smile. It came out looking just a tad condescending.

"Oh…well, then, there should be some nice sausages and toast in a bit…oh, Merlin, look at this mess! I've got egg dripping all over the place; I'm such a dewdrop…" Molly huffed, waving her wand about and _scourgify_-ing the muck on the floor.

Harry arched an eyebrow, hands clasped behind his back. "Indeed. I was wondering, Madam- might we go shopping this afternoon? The clothes I'm wearing are the entirety of my current wardrobe, and I would like to remedy that situation as soon as possible. Also, I-"

There was an owl pecking at the window.

_Tap, tap. Tap._

Harry frowned disapprovingly at the owl for disrupting his speech.

Mrs. Weasley raised her orange eyebrows before opening the kitchen window. The owl flew in, only to drop the heavy cream envelope atop Harry's dark head. The Dark Lord's son's eyes flashed with darkness and his magic thrummed lowly as he scowled at the bird that had assaulted him.

But Molly was _chortling_, hand clasped over her mouth and mirth crinkling the corners of her eyes.

Harry's jaw clenched, but he realized that killing the owl probably wasn't the best course of action in her company.

He smoothed his hair and gave Molly a dark look (to his irritation, she only began to laugh harder) and picked up the envelope.

"It's a Hogwarts letter," he said curiously, eyeing the address.

_Mr. H. Raizel_

_The Orange Bedroom_

_The Burrow_

_Ottery St. Catchpole_

_Devon_

"Oh, yes! I sent for that yesterday. Dumbledore was quite happy to accept, as long as you can keep up with the curriculum and get passing grades in all your classes. We were all grateful that you could warn poor Neville before-"

"_Thank_ you, Mrs. Weasley," Harry cut her off sharply. He glanced through the supply list. "And you just assumed I'd want to take the classes you chose for me? Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration…Potions? Aren't there prerequisites for NEWT-level potions?" Harry inquired, frowning. He'd always heard Severus talk about the few students that made it into his NEWT-level classes.

"It's OWL-level. You're only in fourth year!"

"Quite," Harry growled. He should have researched Hogwarts curriculum more thoroughly. He'd thought that the students would be at NEWT-level by fourth year. He glanced back down at his list. "Charms, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes…_Muggle Sstudiesss_?" He asked incredulously, the words hissed out between clenched teeth but still recognizable as English. He looked up at Molly's bemused face and tried to keep his expression blank. It was a struggle. "I'm afraid," he said carefully, every syllable voiced with sharp precision as he held the Parseltongue that threatened to occur at bay, "that I won't be up to par with the rest of the students on this _courssse_. I know nothing about muggles, and I do not plan on becoming…_involved_ in the muggle world."

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem. You'll only need to do simple things in that class, like learn how to use a fellytone. Besides, the others only started last year."

Harry's eye twitched. "I will drop this course at the earliest possible convenience. I can't-"

"Oh, but you couldn't! Albus said that if you dropped any of your courses you'd have to leave!" Molly exclaimed in alarm. Harry glanced at the smoke rising behind her. The eggs were burning. He didn't tell her- he didn't like eggs, anyway. "I doubt that will be a problem before the start of the school year."

"I don't know why you're protesting so much! Honestly, anyone'd think you were anti-muggle!" Molly said with a small frown.

Harry was suddenly all charm. "Of course not. Muggles are…lovely, _really_. Alas, I am not a muggle. I see no reason to adopt an entirely different culture."

Harry hated muggles. Filthy creatures. He suppressed a shudder.

"Nonsense. You're only learning about their culture, not adopting it!" Mrs. Weasley said sternly.

Harry heard footsteps coming down the stairs and turned, agitated. It was Hermione. "Oh, you're taking Muggle Studies too?" she began earnestly. "I can help you if you'd like- I'm muggleborn myself and my parents-"

"I won't be taking it, actually," Harry cut her off coolly, frowning at the mudblood.

"Why not? It's an interesting course. Almost everyone who isn't a blood purist is taking it this year…" Hermione said, wide-eyed. "Look," she continued, "what if you were trapped in the muggle world and you didn't know how to get around, or how to contact anyone?"

"I would apparate out, because I am a _wizard_," Harry replied emphatically.

"What if you were in a crowd of muggles? That would violate the statute of secrecy."

"I would go to a secluded area and apparate out, then. I don't need to know how to use muggle appliances to do that," Harry replied, eyes narrowing.

Hermione put her hands on her hips. "You don't have an apparition license." Harry was getting a headache. If only his mission had been to kill mudbloods and blood-traitors… "The Knight Bus, then," he said, a condescending smirk tugging the corner of his full lips.

Hermione scowled. "It's not a difficult course, and I can help you if you have trouble. It might be useful to you one day, and even if it won't be, it should be interesting. You'll see," Hermione said bossily. Harry looked skyward before shutting his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked at Hermione's muddy brown eyes intently. "I will not-"

"Oh my God!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly, pointing behind him. "The pan's on fire!"

Molly shrieked and dropped her wand.

Harry palmed his face as the women babbled in fright. It was shameful how muggle-like they were. "Be quiet!" he yelled, holding up the hand that previously had covered his scarred visage.

The frantic women stopped and stared at him. The pan burned on merrily. "You're witches!" Harry reminded them. "Cast a bloody _aguamenti_, Mrs. Weasley- for Salazar's sake, it's not fiendfyre!"

Mrs. Weasley looked suitable mollified. "Right. _Aguamenti_." The eggs were doused in water and the fire went out.

"Isn't it enough that you took Muggle Studies? You're thinking like a muggle, as well!" Harry reprimanded them, frowning.

"She just forgot a spell! There was a fire and she panicked, which is only logical! Besides, muggles can put out fire as well. We have plumbing, you know," Hermione said sharply.

"We?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"I'm muggleborn."

"You're a witch!"

"You shouldn't have such an 'Us and Them' attitude. We're all people, even if muggles can't wave wands about and make things happen!" Hermione said loudly.

"That's the most oversssimplified definition of a wizard I have ever heard," Harry bit out.

"Well how would you define a muggle, then?" Hermione sniffed.

"A human without a magical core…which overexposure to magic or magical substances can cause harm or death to in extreme cases," Harry replied carefully, trying his hardest not to put anything too blood-purist in his definition. That they could only use a fraction of their potential brain power…that they polluted wizarding bloodlines and produced weak wizards…

"Hmph," Hermione huffed. "If you want to separate our cultures so badly, then why didn't you just join up with You-Know-Who instead of running away from him? Anyone'd think you were Draco Malfoy, the way you talk."

Harry realized that he was doing nothing for his image by protesting so ardently against joining a class that involved muggle culture. He shouldn't even be arguing- he'd almost slipped into Parseltongue several times in the course of the argument (speaking in English was like talking in a funny voice to him) and Hermione and Mrs. Weasley were already slightly suspicious of him.

It was only for a year, he reminded himself. Just a year.

"Don't compare me with him," Harry snapped. After all, he and Draco were supposed to be enemies in this charade. He sighed. "Fine. I'll join Muggle Studies."

"There was never a question of it," Molly said smugly, and Harry had to bite his tongue to keep himself from casting the _cruciatus_ curse. Or something more creative. Bella had taught him how to torture and interrogate prisoners, and though she was a little insane, Harry had learned a thing or two from her. He had to admit, she had _style_.

"Now," Mrs. Weasley said, "anyone for sausages?"

"Ooh, yes!" Hermione exclaimed, rubbing her hands together happily.

Harry took a moment to compose himself and adopt a more charming, polite demeanor. "Sausages sound lovely."

Harry did not like sausages. He never had. In fact, he wasn't really into breakfast food at all.

Mrs. Weasley beamed. "Splendid! Now, you two stand out of the way and let me levitate this cutlery…"

-x-x-x-

The other Weasley's soon made an appearance for breakfast, (once the smell of bacon wafted up the stairs) as well as Neville and Brian, who had stayed the night. Neville plopped unceremoniously into the chair beside him, and Percy sat on his other side. Harry sat in his chair with his back perfectly straight, despite the fact that all the chairs were horrid squishy armchair things that Harry found entirely unsuitable for dining.

He cut his sausages into small, even pieces with swift precision.

"So…Harry..." Percy said. Even those two simple words sounded pompous.

"Yes?" Harry tried his best to sound accommodating.

"You'll be in Gryffindor, I expect?" he asked. Harry gave him a look. "Do you?" he said flatly, examining a bit of sausage on the end of his fork.

"Well, all the best people are." Harry could practically see Percy swelling with pride.

"That's wonderful, Percy," Harry said, perhaps a bit too sweetly- Percy looked affronted. "Are you patnorizing me?" he demanded.

"I think you'll find that's pronounced 'patronizing'," Harry said coolly.

"Be nice, Harry," Hermione reprimanded from across the table.

Oh, dear. It seemed the poor, deluded girl felt she had a responsibility for him now they'd had a spat.

"I beg your pardon? Were you taking part in this conversation? Oh, yes- you weren't. Carry on." Harry rolled his a little then glanced back at Percy. "You were saying?"

"Hey! I don't have to tutor you in Muggle Studies, you know!" Hermione said loudly.

"Oh, bother…" Ron sighed. "Look what you've done; now she's in another one of her moods!"

"I was quite aware of your obligations to me, or lack thereof. Why, are you going to retract your generous offer to me because I've corrected Percy's pronunciation?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione let out a frustrated noise, got up, and stormed away from the dinner table.

Harry delicately dabbed his mouth with a napkin and turned to Molly, unconcerned. "Now, Mrs. Weasley…what time would be appropriate for today's shopping? School starts in little more than a week, and there isn't much time to waste…"

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**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. They were very inspirational- especially the longer ones. It would have taken another few weeks for me to get to writing this if you hadn't given me such nice reviews. :)

As for any plot holes, I'm re-writing the first couple of chapters.

Anyway, school starts for me on Wednesday (I was confused, too…random day…) so I'll probably get to the next chapter then- there's never much homework on the first day.

By the way- did anyone catch the Jimmy Carr reference? Couldn't resist.

Review? Too much talk of Parseltongue, Percy's too annoying, you love scrambled eggs...? It will brighten my upcoming days of educational woe…


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